Michael Griffo - Unafraid

“Oh no, thanks be to Zachariel,” David corrected. “It’s because of his guidance that I’ve accomplished what you never thought I could.” Spreading his arms out wide in front of him, David shouted, “I have found The Well’s elusive hiding place!”

This time when the ground shook, David felt it. He even teetered off balance a bit. The sensation didn’t invoke fear, but rather joy. “You should be afraid!” he cried. “The day has come for your pitiful race to end!”

Even though David was addressing his tirade to The Well, Michael felt that every word was meant for him, and he felt his stomach fill with anger. He was the only one who was an outsider; he was the only who had been brought here, summoned to this part of the world. And he was the only one whose destiny was to be The Well’s next guardian. “You’ll never succeed!” he roared. “NEVER!”

Flying through the air and transforming at the same time, Michael didn’t notice David had reacted even more quickly and had moved to the side until there was nothing before him but empty air. He dove onto the ground, and by the time he stood up and turned around, David was holding Ronan by the throat. A small piece of Michael’s heart died as he watched Ronan’s body flail and convulse uncontrollably a few feet from the ground and his hands clutch at David’s fingers that were squeezing tighter and tighter around his neck. His boyfriend was being assaulted, and Michael was just staring at him. What the hell was wrong with this picture?

Once again David proved that his reflexes were just a bit more honed. Age and experience did sometimes triumph over youth and bravado. Just as Michael soared forward, David flicked his wrist and sent Ronan flying into The Well. He struck the wall so hard two stones were dislodged and fell off, one of them hitting Ronan on the side of his head, slicing off a bit of flesh before crashing onto the ground.

By the time Edwige and Michael ran toward Ronan, flanking him on either side, two new stones had grown in the empty space. The Well was rejuvenating itself. “You see!” Michael cried. “You can’t destroy The Well, and you can’t kill us!”

“Just like I could never find my way here?!” David replied. “Don’t you remember, you stupid, little boy, that rules are made to be broken?”

“Just like truces?” Edwige asked. She was kneeling beside Ronan, holding him in her arms, but she was looking directly into David’s eyes. “You swore before your goddamned Zachariel that you would uphold peace between our two races!”

“I lied,” he said simply.

Edwige wanted to strike David herself for going back on his word, for wreaking havoc and endangering the lives of so many innocent people, but just then Ronan stirred in her arms and she forgot about global salvation and focused entirely on her son. “Ronan,” she whispered. “Can you hear me?”

“Yes,” he replied softly. After Michael helped him stand, Ronan whispered, “Thank you, love.”

Enough sentiment! It was time for the animal to be released from its cage. After ripping off his shirt, David tossed it to the ground, and his massive chest began to heave. He felt his shoulder blades splitting apart, and even though the pain was less excruciating than it had been the first time the metamorphosis had taken place, the feeling was still bone-chilling. Clenching his fists, David raised his arms, his biceps bulging, his neck resembling the trunk of a tree, and he howled. “Ahhhhhhh!!!!!”

No one knew what to make of the scene. They were horrified and transfixed, and it looked as if David was going to explode. They never imagined he was going to sprout wings.

Slowly two feathered wings, the color of midnight, emerged from David’s back. They were majestic, about eight feet in length and several feet high, and took up more than half the entire length of the cave. When the transformation was complete, David’s breathing returned to normal, and his wings fluttered lazily behind him. The only sound in the cave was The Well’s vibrations that increased tenfold in response to David’s incredible makeover. When Michael finally spoke, his words could hardly be heard. “Oh ... my ...”

“God,” David said, finishing his thought.

“What the bloody hell is happening!” Blakeley shouted. England wasn’t supposed to have earthquakes? Was she? Well, she must, because the ground was shaking. And it wasn’t just because a stampede of students was rushing past him to get inside St. Sebastian’s and hopefully to safety. All except those two. “Ciaran! Saoirse!” Blakeley cried out. “Don’t just stand there! Get your arses into the gym!”

But when Blakeley got closer to them he couldn’t move either. It wasn’t every day he saw a colleague ripping open a student’s neck with his teeth. “Joubert!” Blakeley gasped. “What the ...”

That’s all he could say before Joubert let go of Talisa’s convulsing body to lunge at Blakeley like some deformed animal and knock him to the ground. He heard some bones in his back break and, sadly, he knew they were the least of his worries.

Flat on his back, staring up into his colleague’s now-unrecognizable face, Blakeley finally understood what was happening. Evil really was walking among the angels. Lochlan had been right all along! Not only was evil alive at Double A, it was living inside his colleagues. He didn’t know if the thing on top of him was a monster, a zombie, or a vampire. It didn’t matter. Whatever it was, there was still a chance that his friend was trapped inside. “Gwendal!” Blakeley cried. “Listen to me, please!” Frozen on the sidelines, Ciaran and Saoirse watched Joubert release his hold on Blakeley and look down at him with a quizzical expression. It was working; Blakeley was reaching him. “Let me help you, mate,” Blakeley said. “You don’t have to do this!”

Stupid mortal. Joubert already knew that. But he also knew that the leader he had once trusted was out of his mind, Jean-Paul had been senselessly murdered, and all his years teaching theology had brought him no closer to God. He was damned, and there was nothing Blakeley could say or do that could help him.

“I know I don’t have to,” Joubert finally replied. “But I want to.”

At first Blakeley didn’t feel a thing, then it was like a branding iron was being seared into his neck.

His body was flooded with so much burning heat that Blakeley thought he was going to spontaneously combust. And when he saw the flames erupt in front of him, he was convinced that the fireball was him and not Joubert.

“Oh my God, it worked!” Ciaran said as he stared in amazement at the syringe he was still holding in his hand. When he had realized he had an extra one in his pants’ pocket, he wasn’t sure if it could substitute for a stake, but he jammed it into Joubert’s back, piercing his heart from behind, just in case. Score one for the Science Boy! Seeing his coach turn paler by the second, he thought it might be a hollow victory. Then again, maybe not.

“Coach,” Ciaran said, bending low and whispering in his ear. “Hold on! We can reverse this; we can make you live forever. You just have to say the word, and we’ll find someone.”

Saoirse was shocked. Even in the face of death, Ciaran was a scientist and looked for a way to prolong life. Taking in the extent of Blakeley’s injuries, she wasn’t sure any vampire would be able to help him become immortal. They would never know, however, because Blakeley had another wish.

“Get me to Sister Mary,” he said urgently. “Now.”

Ciaran could try to cheat death; Saoirse wanted to respect Blakeley’s request. Scooping the coach up in her arms, she barely felt his weight. “Go to the gym, Ciar,” she ordered.

“I’m not leaving you alone,” her brother protested.